Visit to the Doctor's
by auburn-haired-sadist-XD
Summary: Dr. Belhin had seen a lot of strange things in his years as a doctor. But nothing compared to all that he had seen from Hank. Madness Combat fanfic.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: This is an intro to my latest Madness Combat story, "Visit to the Doctor's". There will be more info on it in part two; for now, I just want to see if anybody likes the concept. Enjoy!

**Fun Fact**: This part was written AFTER the original story. XD

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Madness Combat. Matt "Krinkels" Jolly does.

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Hank had been a strange patient from the very beginning. Though their affiliation with each other was illegal from the very start, Dr. Ase Balhin really hadn't expected that much from him. In the end, criminals and runaways were still human too, and other than some extra injuries, they didn't suffer from anything that he wouldn't see on a normal patient. So why should Hank have been any different?

When he'd first met the man, he had been dressed fairly normally. He had worn jeans and a black, long-sleeved jacket. His dark hair had hung loosely around his face, his dark eyes not nearly as bloodshot as they were now. He had been cocky and full of determination, a grin on his face showing just how confident he was in himself. Everything had been normal, and after he left, Dr. Balhin couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever see the strange young man again.

He did, though. It may have been almost a year since the first visit, but one day, Hank showed back up. There was nothing different about him except for one small detail; a bandage was wrapped around his head, covering some wound that Hank had refused to let him see. He didn't know why Hank wouldn't let him see it, but he had decided that hey, it was his money. If he didn't want anyone to look at the wound, that was his choice. He didn't come for a check-up that time, but instead asked only for a prescription for a strong dose of painkillers. The doctor gave him one, and he once again disappeared.

He came back a month later, this time with a bandage around his middle. The doctor only knew it was there because Hank had not worn his jacket, only a gray t-shirt, and he could see the lumps the bandages caused from the inside. This time he had greatly insisted that Hank let him look at it, and finally, the man complied. The doctor was shocked at the wound, though. It was a very deep gash, and as the doctor examined it, he was horrified to see that it went through to the other side, too. It had already been stitched, but even so, how could he have survived an injury like that? He had tried to push for an explanation, but Hank gave a vague answer, saying that he had another doctor who had done it for him. Dr. Belhin had continued to worry, and Hank seemed to notice, for he suddenly smiled at the doctor. 'Don't worry, it's just a flesh wound,' he had said. But the man's eyes were tired and worried, and as he looked, the doctor noticed the first creeping red veins on the whites of his eyes.

That was the last time that he had fully seen Hank's face. That was the last time he had seen a lot of the man, actually. Six months later he walked through the door, looking like an entirely different person. The doctor had not recognized him at first, and had began to reach for the phone to call 911, when the familiar voice said 'Calm down, doc. It's me.' He couldn't believe that it was Hank. Bandages seemed to cover every patch of skin, except for a very small amount on his face. The doctor couldn't be positive, of course, since most of the man's body was covered by the long, dark trench coat that he wore, and the black bandanna and grey mouthpiece that covered all but his eyes. No; his eyes were instead covered by a pair of eerie red goggles. The doctor was shocked, to say the least, and even a tad bit frightened. He had given Hank the pills he asked for without question, and the man had soon left. But before he went, he couldn't help but ask; 'Hank...what happened?' Hank had been quiet for a minute,then slowly took off the bandanna and unwrapped the bandages around his head. The memory of that sight still haunted the doctor. So much scarring........

And then, after two years, Hank had returned. He looked mostly the same as last time, except that his coat was now closed, and numerous belts wrapped around the front of it. So much had changed, and much to the doctor's relief, he had finally begun to explain things. Not in detail, of course. Just that he was covered in scarring, and that he was having trouble sleeping, and that his body always hurt, and that he had an extreme case of coulrophobia. He had given the man the prescriptions he needed, and things were mostly alright after that. He still didn't see Hank often, but he came in every once in a while for pills and whatnot, and sometimes the occasional check-up. But nothing more.

And now, here they were again. He unwrapped the sphygmomanometer from around Hank's arm, and looked at the blood pressure reading.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: This story has a rather weird origin. XD It started from another one of the complaints I had on "Coulrophobia." When I was writing it, a small part of my mind kept nagging to me "What makes you think that Hank has one doctor? Wouldn't he be traveling too much for that? Or wouldn't whoever he works for cover his medical charges and provide a doctor?" And in the end, the golden question; "What would it be like to _be _Hank's doctor?" That one thought made me giggle, and I couldn't stop coming up with scenarios in my mind. So finally, I decided I would just write a story and get it all down on paper. THIS is what it's like for Hank's doctor. May God have mercy on his poor soul. XD

I'm much happier with this story than I was with Coulrophobia, mostly because I got just about everything I wanted into it. The only thing I didn't was a small part about Dr. Belhin's time in college taking some physcology classes, but eh, it's fine without it. :P

I've actually gotten strangely attached to my lovely Dr. Belhin. I'm hesitant to abandon him after how much work I put into him, so he'll probably show up in another one of my writings eventually. Whether or not he'll show up in another MC fic, I don't know.

Anyways, now that I've wanted and dilly-dallyed, let's get to the story! I hope that you all enjoy it; I worked really hard on it!~ R&R, please! ;)

~Auburn

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**Disclaimer**: I do not own Madness Combat.

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"Blood pressure's still as high as last time." He frowned and gave him a piercing look. "Have you been taking your medication?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, I have. It's just stress, okay? Believe me, the best pills that money can buy wouldn't make a difference either."

"Then maybe you should cut back on whatever's stressing you out."

He gave a chilling, humorless laugh that made the doctor shut his mouth immediatly. "Trust me, doc. That's not gonna happen."

Dr. Bilhan sighed, but didn't push it." Alright then. I'm gonna need you to remove your goggles now, okay? And, er...the bandages around your ears, if you don't mind..."

Hank gave the doctor an almost suspicious glance, but after a moment, he slowly complied.

The scars still hadn't healed, but he had expected that. It was always the eyes that gave him more of a startle. They were dark eyes, almost black, and they'd been getting more and more bloodshot each time Hank came to see him. He carefully aimed the light into them, watching the pupils dialate. Other than the red veins practically blotting out the sclerae, they seemed to be fine. He turned off the light and picked up the otoscope.

After indicating for Hank to turn his head sideways (though he'd never admit it, he was terrified to try and move the man himself, and so always asked), he carefully inserted the instrument into his ears one at a time. Everything was normal so far. Physically, at least.

"Have you been having any incidents?" he asked as he disinfected the head of the otoscope.

"Nothing that I haven't been able to handle," Hank grumbled.

The doctor shot him a dissaproving look. "Open your mouth, please," he said. He knew that he probably sounded about as annoyed as he felt, but he wasn't in the mood to try and hide it. He understood that Hank had a rough life and a less than savory career, but did he really have to act like such a tough guy? Why couldn't he show just _one _moment of weakness? He knew his annoyance was a bit unfair; it wasn't so much that he was angry at Hank, but angry at himself. Angry that he couldn't shoulder burdens like that. Angry that he showed weakness when this strange, dark man never did.

He placed the depressor on Hank's tongue a bit roughly, but if the man noticed, he didn't say anything. He switched on his pen light a took a careful look inside. A bit discolored; kind of pale, but other than that, nothing out of the ordinary. Same as always. Didn't this man over get a cold or something?

Truth be told, he didn't see Hank very often. He wasn't even technically a real patient. There were no medical records, no papers except for the dollar bills that passed between them. On more than one occasion had Hank been denied entry to his office because the secretary said that he didn't have an appointment. Those situations never went well. At this point, he was just glad that he hadn't had to replace a secretary.

Despite how long Hank had been coming to see him, he really new very little about the man; basically nothing. He didn't know the man's job, or his age, or what school he had gone to; he didn't know where the man lived, what he did in his spare time; and sometimes, he got the suspicion that he didn't even know the man's real name.

Hank had explained that is was better that way, though. "Safer for the both of us," he'd said. "Mostly you."

It was a very subtle threat, so cleverly underlined in his voice that the doctor was surprised that he caught it. He would later come to the conclusion that he had only heard it because Hank wanted him to. A strange thought, albeit it a frightening one. If he hadn't needed the money so badly at the time, he probably would have denied the offer right there and cut all ties with the man. But he was desperate, and although nervous, he had agreed. Agreed to be the physician of the man that the only thing he really knew about was that he was a killer.

Not that he'd ever tell Hank he knew. It was something that stayed unspoken between them. The doctor suspected that Hank knew what he had concluded, and that he knew _he knew _he knew. But it was something not to be talked about. Speaking it aloud made it official; making if official meant that the doctor knew too much. "Safer for the both of us. Mostly you." Just peachy.

"Everything's normal. Was there any specific reason you came in, or did you just feel like a check-up?" As if. Hank didn't come in unless he thought that something was wrong. And something usually was.

"Well...yeah," he admitted, hesitant as always. The doctor waited patiently for him to elaborate, but all he did was give a deep signh and rub wearily at his eyes with his right hand.

The doctor remained silent.

"There's this feeling...deep in my chest," Hank finally said. His hand tightened over his heart momentarily as though he could physically grab the feeling.

"What kind of feeling is it?" the doctor inquired." Is it pain of some sort?"

"No, it's not pain. It's just..."He furrowed his eyebrows and seemed to think very hard about it. "There's this icy feeling. I just feel like I'm...colder, then everything around me."

"Cold?" Dr. Bilhan asked, frowning.

"Yeah. And not only that. It feels like...I dunno, wrong. Almost like something's missing. Gone."

"Anything else?"

"I'm always shaky," he admitted. "My skin feels chilly for no reason and just can't get warm. But I think that that's just from- well........you know."

Indeed he did. It was often hard to decide if the information disturbed or amused him. It was true that a large part of the population suffered from the exact same thing, but still; how could this man, this dark, dangerous, mysterious man, be afraid of _clowns _of God's sake? It was no doubt the strongest case of coulrophobia that he had ever seen, or even heard of, for that matter, flaring up without any stimulation for no apparent reason.

The doctor thought for a minute, trying to think of what might be wrong with his patient. He knew that Hank didn't have diabetes or anemia. He was rather pale, and always seemed to be tired; hypothyroidism, maybe?

"Have you had any trouble keeping food down?" he asked.

"No," Hank replied, frowing.

"Have you been gaining weight?"

"Not that I know of."

"Constipation?"

"Eh, no."

"Hair falling out?"

"Negative."

"Overall weakness?"

Hank scoffed. "Definetly not."

The doctor sighed. "Fatigue, maybe?"

Hank was quiet for a moment before answering. "I honestly don't know if I'm anymore tired than usual," he admitted. "I'm so used to not getting enough sleep, I've pretty much adapted to feeling that way all the time..."

The doctor sighed again. "Even though I know it won't be any use, may I again suggest that you cut down on whatever's tiring you out?"

To the doctor's shock, Hank smiled. _Actually _smiled. Jebus Christ, was his left arm tingling? "Sorry, doc, but I think that you already know the answer to that one."

Dr. Bilhan couldn't help but to slightly smile back. "You're right, I do." His smile faded, though, as he once again began to rack his brain for an answer. What in the world was wrong with his patient? Lack of muscle? Tch, as if. Raynaud's disease? No, it was in his chest, not his hands and feet. Low blood pressure? Of course not, they'd already established that it was too high. What, then?

The doctor froze as it suddenly occured to him. The fatique, the pale skin, the hallucinations; the feeling of something being _gone_; it all added up.

"Hank, have you been feeling alright lately?"

He was rewarded for his inquiry with a weird look. "Umm, isn't that what I came here for-?"

"No, I mean...how have you been _feeling_. Happy, sad...?"

Hank stared at him. "And how is this relavent to the matter at hand...?"

The doctor sighed for what felt like the hundredth time. "Hank...I think that you...might be depressed."

More blank looks. "Depressed?" he asked in an emotionless tone that made the doctor want to physically flinch.

"Yes, depressed..."

Hank shook his head. "Take my tempature."

The doctor blinked. "Excuse me-?"

"I said to take my tempature. Then you'll see what I'm talking about isn't mental or psycological or any of that shit. That this _cold _is physically real."

The doctor hesitated for a minute, but then pulled out a thermometer from a nearby draw. "Uh...open up," he said in a confused tone.

Hank did so, and the thermometer was plopped inside his mouth. He closed it, and all was still for a moment.

Finally, the doctor removed it and looked at the reading. And then did a double take.

Certainly, it wasn't humanly possible. Was it?

For the next ten minutes, Dr. Bilhan performed various tempature readings on Hank, sticking the thermometer just about anywhere that it would fit. But the readings didn't change. If anything, they got even worse.

The doctor stared down at the latest reading, his hands shaking slightly. He slowly lifted his head up to look at Hank, who was looking overly smug. Idiot, didn't he realize that by all laws of nature he should be _dead_?

"You...do you realize..." The doctor paused, and Hank raised an eyebrow.

"Realize what?"

He took a deep breath. "Hank, what do _you _think that your body tempature probably is?"

Hank frowned. "I dunno, maybe uh..." He seemed to think for a minute. "Low 90s, maybe? 93, 94?"

The doctor stared at him. "You do realize that that would mean you have hypothermia, right?"

Hank shrugged. "Well, it wouldn't be the weirdest thing that's happened to me. Why? How low is it?"

"Well..." The doctor faltered, uncertain. But he knew that Hank had the right to know. He continued. "Your tempature, like all people, varies between different areas. But on average......your body tempature is about 68 degrees Fahrenheit, give or take a few degrees. That means that your internal tempature is probably about 64." The doctor shook his head. "It doesn't make any sense, but......Hank, you're a walking dead man."

All was quiet after he said this, and Dr. Balhin was suddenly worried. Hank's head was buried in his hands, his body hunched over. Still, could he blame him? How does one react to that information? And worse; what did it mean?

He was shaken from his thoughts, however, as Hank's body began to shake, a small noise coming from it that the doctor didn't recgonize. He panicked, worrying that Hank was going into some sort of shock. But soon, the noise grew louder. More recgonizable. And as the doctor realized what he was hearing, he began to gape at the man in front of him.

Hank was laughing. His body actually shook from the force of it, and as it grew louder, Hank threw his head back, a grin clearly written across his face. He was laughing so hard, and once again, the doctor began to worry that this was some form of shock. But Hank's chuckles soon died down, the man shaking his head back and forth in a thoughtful, amused manner.

"Well Doc, I'm glad we got that cleared up. It's good to know that I wasn't just imagining things." He grinned at Dr. Belhin, who was still at a loss for words. And with that, Hank stood and walked out the door. "See you in a few months!" he called back over his shoulder, and then he was gone.

The doctor say motionless for a moment, thinking. What had just happened? What did it mean? Was Hank even stranger than he had thought? He didn't know what to think and he didn't know what to do.

After a moment though, he decided it didn't matter. _Hank is a very strange patient_, Dr. Belhin decided for the hundredth time. And knowing that wondering about it would get him nowhere, he shrugged his shoulders and began looking through the local paper, momentarily PA-ing his secretary to bring him a cup of coffee, and an aspirin.


End file.
